Damage Control
by Aragem
Summary: Optimus Prime's team thought they would enjoy peace and quiet once Megatron was imprisoned, but unfortunately, trouble arise from an unseen force that may shatter their lives forever.
1. Prologue

The trading post didn't allow weapons, fortunately Swindle's subspace with the nifty Sonic Jammer 3000 preventing any scanners from detecting the small arsenal he contained in his chest compartment. He felt confident that if any trouble rose, he could handle himself. However, violence at the Grand Central Space Station's Trading House was rare and when it did occur it was usually due to an argument between merchants took from insult slinging to fist swinging. The wide frame brutes that manage security of the facility were quite to halt any activity that would disturb the other patrons. Another bonus of the Trade House was there was no ban on any goods. Anything from spices, clothing, minerals, to slaves, weapons, and drugs were allowed to be bought and sold. Within this place, slave traders could brush shoulders with spice merchants and likely do business together.

Swindle's optics swept over the crowd and found the organic he was looking for. Though the Decepticons were his largest clients, he had clientele on the side that proved profitable enough for his attentions. He passed through the crowd, tossing greetings at the new faces of potential clients, and teasing insults at old faces he had "friendly" dealings with. As he approached the table, his client rose to her feet, her hand held out to give him greeting in her Femaxian way.

Though Femaxians greatly resemble the humans, though there was differences that made them stand apart. The Femaxian females held the majority in the population with a high mortality rate for males. Swindle has yet to see a male Femaxian, but had heard that they didn't have the intelligence that the females had and likely were kept on the home planet for breeding purposes. The facial structure was more angular with long faces with ears that ended in a round point rather than the shell like structures the humans had for ears. Eyes were larger too, with a large range of eye colors. The largest difference is that Femaxians were a bigger species. When Swindle met the Femaxian merchant, he was looking up into her face since she stood a head taller than him.

"Swindle." She spoke his name as she took his hand in hers and leaned in to perform a Femaxian greeting. Her lips brushed either side of his face mouth before releasing his hand.

"Lady Tannen." Swindle responded, not at all faze by the intimacy of the greeting. He had dealt with countless species each with their own form of greeting. The kissing is the least of some of the bizarre greetings he had witness or participated in. "So what profitable deals do you have processing in that pretty head of yours?" There, he did the greeting and added a little flirting since she was a femme, now they can get to his favorite part of any business discussion, bargaining.

"Don't be so eager." Tannen took her seat, her green robes whistling as she waved a hand to a waiting servant. "Females like to take time and enjoy social interactions, slowly."

Okay, he walked into that one. He flirted so it was only natural that she flirted back. His smile didn't change one iota as he watched the servant bring her a tall glass device with a long hose with a mouth piece on the end. Tannen took the end of the hose and placed the piece between her lips and drew in a deep breath. Swindle's violet optics watched liquid bubble in the glass dome at the top as heat was drawn through the contraption. She eyed him as she held the smoke in for a moment and then let it loose in a steady stream through her lips and nose. She held out the hose to him in offering.

Swindle shook his head, "Sorry, Lady, smoke and machines don't mix. It'll have my filters clogged and my pipes stained."

"Pity," Tannen replied helping herself to another drag. "Cold machines miss out on so much."

"Oh, we don't miss out on as much as you think, Lady." Swindle found himself smirking with a wink. "And we're not as cold as you think either. I dare say you organics are the ones missing out."

Pit, he was flirting again. He wished she was more like mother, the previous Lady Tannen who was quick to finish business meetings since she was uncomfortable dealing with aliens. Swindle was able to gouge the prices and she not notice, being so eager to conclude talks with him. But this Tannen was different; she took her time and seemed to enjoy talking business with him, even dragging him along before they started talking prices, as if she was teasing him.

Tannen finished a third drag on the hookah, then she set it on a receptacle along the edge of the glass tube at the neck. "As much as I would wish to see for myself what I am missing, I must say that disappointingly, I do not have time to convince you to show me."

As she reached into a case by her chair, Swindle took this moment to wonder that the Pit did she mean "_convince him to show her_"? Okay, next time no more flirting, this was getting too creepy. Just as she slide a data pad across the table to him, Swindle's friendly salesman demeanor flicked back in place of his puzzled look. He took the data-pad and his optics processed the information with seconds.

"This is triple the order from last meta-cycle." Swindle was quickly tallying the numbers through his processor.

"The Femaxian army is growing faster than anticipated." Tannen tapped a manicure finger on the table surface. "We understand that it will take time to collect what we want, but we are willing to pay 20 percent more if you can get them within a month."

Swindle filed this information as he mentally checked his inventory. He had 70 percent of the order in hidden caches, and he would have to deal with third parties to get the rest of the order, but it was easily done. He opened a window on the data-pad and typed in his price. He passed it back to her and watched her reaction.

Tannen's brow barely twitched as she consulted the price and then responded with another number, handing it back. It was never wise to talk numbers out loud in public. It was a private, confidential matter that brokered no one else's attention.

"You're cutting me deep, Lady." Swindle bemoaned as he looked at the latest offer.

"Not too deep if you can get the weapons within a month." Tannen replied as she watched him respond with his offer. She studied it for a moment and nodded, "Very well, a bit more than my superiors would have liked, but the weapons are very much needed."

Swindle gave her his most promising salesman smile as they touched hands, sealing the deal in Femaxian style. "Your superiors will be pleased with my product, I can assure. You are after all my favorite client," the line that he feeds all his clients.

"You lie," Tannen muttered taking up her Hookah for another drag. ", but no matter. Your actions speak louder than your words and I know you will bring us what we need within the time limit since you are greedy and want the 20 percent."

"Owch," Swindle placed a hand on his chest plate as if in pain. "Your words are wounding my very spark."

"Another lie." Tannen released a drag, releasing a sweet scent into the air between them. "But a sweet lie. I have a request of you if you are willing, which I am certain you will be since more money will be promised to you upon completion."

Swindle's audio receptors pricked at the promise of more money and he leaned closer to her. She took another slow drag, her eyes on his face, waiting. He knew what she wanted and it wouldn't cost him to oblige her. "C'mon, you wicked little vixen-bot. Don't tease your best mech for the job."

Tannen smiled, reaching into her case for another file and sliding it to him. He scooped it up and reached the information on it. An optic ridge rose as his smile faded, then both optics looked up at her and studied her face. He set the pad down and studied Tannen's face, of whose smile had dropped and was watching him in turn.

"This is a strange request, Tannen." Swindle muttered, not bothering with her title. "I'm going to need more information if I am going to agree to this."

"Understandable." Tannen replied with a nod. "Please, understand however, that I cannot divulge all information to you."

"What is this all about?" Swindle asked curiously, "Not that I care that it's being done to Autobots. What is the purpose of making this sell?"

Tannen shook her head, her lips becoming thin, "Unfortunately, I cannot discuss that. Let's just say that if it pans out, then there will be more business for you in the future."

Swindle liked the sound of that, liked that very much indeed. But though his greedy circuits yelled for him to agree, his caution circuits held them off. He didn't get to being where he was by agreeing to every offer put in front of him and his caution circuits were rarely wrong. "How do you know this Autobot will purchase this . . . "product"?"

"Firstly, we've done our research. He has been seen visiting places of ill repute whenever he visits a station or even having said places send an envoy to him and some bribing has indicated what sort of products he likes. Secondly, you'll me making the sell. You have had dealings with him in the past, so he should feel comfortable around you for you to pitch the sale. Thirdly, there is a tidy bonus for you if the sale goes through and not to mention you are more than welcome to keep whatever profit you gain from the sale itself."

Swindle absorbed this information with a small nod, "He is an Autobot, and you know how they are. . . ."

"If you swing the sale as if he is performing charity and express the benefits to him, then he should agree. We have also put into place a way to make him more receptive by arrange those facilities to be unavailable to him so he is unable to tend to his want." She furrowed her brow, as she tilted her head, "I don't understand why you are hesitating. It's an easy sale with much profit."

_Watch it, Sister. I've been doing this business while your species was still part of the primordial muck. _Swindle tapped a thick finger on the edge of the data-pad as he calculated the risk with the profit and came to a decision, "I want to see the "product" before I consent to anything."

Tannen hesitated, surprise flashing across her eyes. She hadn't anticipated he was pleased to see. He waited while she collected herself and responded, "I understand. But I must first have your word that this is confidential, regardless of whether you agree to our proposition or not."

Swindle nodded, he had no problem with secrets. A lot of clients stayed on with him due to his confidentiality.


	2. Purchase

Ion Prime wasn't in the best of moods. Sentinel Prime, acting in Magnus's stead, had pressed for him to build up forces along the edge of Cybertronian territory, especially along outposts frequented by organics, thus he was forced to spend a stellar-cycle visiting each outpost and satellite to make sure security was tight to meet Sentinel's high expectations. He had spent the last three hours going over procedures, overseeing drills, and updating the inventory. There was a lot of work to be done here. The Autobots stationed here were out of practice and security had so many holes, he wondered why the Pit the Decepticons didn't try invading through this sector. And he had three more outposts such as this to cover before he could even think about returning to Cybertron.

And the one outlet he had was closed due to some drug investigation. It was likely for the best since he kept promising himself that he would not return to those places, but it was grating at him now since it was where he went to relax his anxious circuits. He found himself tapping a finger at the corner of his data-pad hard enough to ripple the information across the screen. Forget it, he couldn't work like this.

He brushed aside the data-pad and rose to help himself to energon spiked oil. He felt better as the energon spread through his systems and the spiked minerals sent tremors through his inner workings bringing a small sense of euphoria. He considered taking a small break for a recharge before returning to work when his comm buzzed. He mentally bemoaned the caller, believing it to be some inept assistant request him to come down and sort out some mishap or mistake. Imagine his surprise when he saw that it was Swindle's frequency contacting him.

He nearly ignored it. Now wasn't a good time to be dealing with any Decepticon of any nature. In the past, he had saw past Swindle's background and dealt with him when the supplies he needed was too expensive to be had through normal channels. However, now with the rhetoric concerning Decepticons since the attack on the Magnus, it was wiser to keep his distance. Yet, likely the tension with the Decepticons will fade in time and he would have already burned bridges with Swindle. His communications were encrypted so it wouldn't easily be traced and he can diplomatically sway Swindle away without losing him as a seller.

He accepted the call, "Swindle, it's been a while."

"Ion, my favorite Prime, how is the gear busting coming along with the new recruits?"

How did he know they had hired on new recruits? Ion could only assume that Swindle had his resources in the Autobot armor. The thought disturbed him and he nearly ended the call. "State your business, Swindle. You know how things are between Autobots and Decepticons."

"Oh, that little ruckus going on? I don't let that let me ignore my favorite customers." Swindle kept his bright inviting smile.

"Whatever you have for sale, I'm not interested." Ion muttered already regretting answering. "Right now isn't the best time."

"You're breaking my spark. I thought we were such good friends." Swindle bemoaned though no grief was apparent in his voice or face.

"Theatrics don't work on me." Ion touched a servo to his brow feeling his internal processor starting to strain. "If there is a purpose to this call, then please present it or leave me alone to my work."

"You seem tense, lines in a knot, fuel pipes clogged, circuits overloaded. . . .?" Swindle leaned toward the monitor, his optics carrying an edge now.

Ion's servo moved to the disconnect button. "Swindle, I really don't have time to play games with you. I'm sorry, but I have to go."

"The local brothels' closed down?" Swindle's smooth voice delivered the words as a blow.

Ion's hand froze over the disconnect key as he felt his processor stall, and then slowly reboot. He internally played back Swindle's words. It didn't mean anything; it would damage his reputation for it to be revealed he visited entertainment clubs, but so many mechs that it would be brushed under the rug and forgotten within solar cycles. The worst he would face was a warning or temporary suspension, but nothing shattering.

He clucked a chuckle, "You'll have to do better than that, Swindle."

"I'm not talking about the brothels in fifth sector along 35th st. I'm talking about the brothels in D District."

Ion felt his spark tremble in its chamber. His legs wavered, as he suddenly found the need to sit down. He lowered his bulk onto the chair near the comm and tried to process his surroundings. If anyone knew . . . it would be more than his reputation that would be ruined. His career would be in ruins and chances are that he would be put in the Stockade.

"Oh, Ion, my old friend, don't look so down. I'm not going to break confidentiality through blackmail. That's not my style." Swindle looked more amused than comforting. "I have something that I believe you'll be interested in."

"Swindle, I. . . I don't think. . . ." Ion was still having trouble resetting his system. He had always been careful. So very careful, taking public transportation, face hidden by a traveler's hood, and paying upfront for services so as not to leave any records of his visits. He managed to kick his processor into overdrive and managed to speak in a calm, but firm voice, "Swindle, I don't believe now is a good time to discuss any business. If you respect confidentiality between us, then I am going to wish you drop this line of conversation and not bring it up again."

"Aw, don't say that until after you've seen the product. A little something I picked up as a payment for a gambling debt. It's not something I usually carry so I really need it taken off my servos. I'm willing to let it go at a low price."

Ion should have known that Swindle would only bring up such a taboo if it would bring him some money. Ion shook his head, not interested. "No, thanks. I'm sure you'll find a buyer."

Swindle was not deterred and nor did the cheerfulness leave his faceplate. "You have my frequency if you should change your mind. One thing, before I go. She's lovely. For an organic."

* * *

><p>Ion spent the next several hours working. He made some calls, schedule further training for recruits, and sent off reports. He nursed from an energon cube as his optics slowly scanned a report. Eventually, he switched off the monitor and drained the last of the energon. He had planned on going to District D this evening; he paid that place well for confidentiality.<p>

It wouldn't go down well for him if it got back to Cybertron that Ion Prime had a fetish for organics. He didn't want to think about it what would happen to him what with the Cybertronian population terrified of organics due to Sentinel's propaganda.

What was there to be afraid of? Their soft skin that indented when touched, hair that curled and moved at the slightest breeze, and the smell of clean flesh sent parks across his processor. He felt his spark ebb inside his chamber at the memories.

_She's lovely. For an organic. _

He found his hand on his chest plate, deeply regretting that he couldn't make it to District D. It had been a while, a long while since the last time.

He could just look. Swindle said that he could at her, maybe even touch her. Sometimes just touching is enough.

He didn't want to get involved with Swindle. The reasons not to were still there, but the temptation didn't care. He punched in the frequency and within moments Swindle's face appeared on the screen with an irritating beam on his face.

* * *

><p>Two hours later, he left the monorail for District G. His traveler's cloak hid his pale frame with gold stripping from eyes and optics and he kept to himself. District G housed a series of lodgings from simple pods that consisted of shelves with single beds to large suites. Swindle told him to come to Hotel 36T, room 405.<p>

The hotel was meant for Cybertronians and any machine like races. Ion's engine thrummed as he drew closer to the appointed room. It was always the same when he visited a willing organic prostitute. Tentacles, fur, extra limbs, or anything that was soft to the touch. He didn't care much for insectoid races that had hard shells like his and just didn't have that fleshy smell. He hoped she wasn't like that.

The door opened before he could knock. Swindle must have heard him down the hall. The smaller mech with the sharp sigil on his chest flashed a satisfied smile at him. "Come in, come in. Shall I get us some energon and talk about the good old days or do you want to see whatcha came here for?"

"Swindle, I just want to look. I'm not committing to anything." Ion quickly reminded him as his optics darted about the room.

"She's in the back." Swindle led him across the room to a door that led into a separate door. The apartment was smaller than Ion's back at the base, but it was finely furnished. Swindle palmed a panel and the door whispered open to reveal a darken room.

It took a moment before Ion's optics found the figure sitting on a small pile of cushions in a black robe with a thick hood covering her head. It took a moment for him to access his internal files, but he recognized her species. A Femaxian, not young, but not old at all, sitting with hands folded neatly on her lap and a blindfold across her eyes.

He slid past Swindle to get a better look and the Decepticon peddler was glad to let him past. He saw that there were no restraints on her wrists, or anything trapping her. In the dim room, her pale skin seemed to have a soft glow of its own. Ion studied her with entranced optics as he lowered himself onto his pedes for a closer look. "Why is she blindfolded?"

"Femaxian tradition." Swindle said with a shrugged. "The first face she's supposed to look upon is her master's. She's one of those. . . .what do they call them? A courtesan? They have them in their courts; they're supposed to entertain royalty."

He placed a servo across her folded hands, completely covering them. He spoke to her in basic. "What's your name?"

"Arro." She whispered in a smooth tone. It wasn't the high bell of a young girl's voice, but flowed like dark space from her lips.

"Arro, how did you come to be here?" He asked her, wanting to know her story.

"I was companion to a Baron of Planet Griel until he fell ill and passed on. His wife didn't care much for me and gave me to favored nephew who gave me to Swindle to settle his debts." She spoke with that smooth tone, deeper than a young girl's, but quite feminine.

Ion accepted the story, patting her hands sympathetically and drew closer. The scent of her hair and skin assailed his olfactory. "Arro, how do you feel about being with a mechanoid?"

Arro lifted her chin, and push the blindfold off her eyes. It took a moment for her blue eyes to focus on his faceplate and a smile touched her lips. "If you have souls that can feel affection and grief, then how you are different compared to my kind?"

This organic femme was no prostitute; there was a certain grace and elegance about her that the organics lacked. She held a sense of pride in what her role and what she did. That it meant more than just the money he was offering.

He wanted her. Not just for one hour or one night. He wanted her with him as a companion. It was crazy; there was no way he could get away with bringing an organic with him back to Cybertron, despite their unpopularity. But then, why not?

He was from an Elite family unit; his Maker had given him a private suite at the top of his family's privately owned skyscrapers. There was plenty of privacy, more so if he dismissed any servant bots. He could make the suite compatibility for an organic, just pay off some construction mechs for silence.

It was at first all just a fantasy, but it matured from fantasy to conscious planning. He could arrange for her to stay in a suite at one of the organics hotels at this outpost until he sent for her; when his home . . . their home was ready.

First, he had to negotiate with the beaming Con behind him.

* * *

><p>An hour later, Swindle was happily looking over his bank accounts. He always got a little tingle in his spark whenever he saw the number larger than it was last time he looked and Ion paid a small fortune for the product. Now, he had to contact Tannen to confirm the purchase so he can get his bonus for the deed being done.<p>

Her face came on the line, her hair down about her shoulders, a light green house robe draped her shoulders and sashed loosely at the waist. She held glass filled with amber liquid which he could only assume was Femaxian wine. "Were you successful?"

"Hey, my sales always go through. She'll be on Cybertron within a month."

"Good, I'll transfer the funds to the account you specified upon in our agreement." Tannen sipped the wine while her body shifted, likely crossing her legs.

"I gotta ask." Swindle touched a servo to his chin. "What are you planning?"

"Me? What makes you think that I'm the one behind this?" Tannen smirked at him behind her glass.

"Aren't you?" Swindle leaned forward, intrigued. "Oh, so someone is plucking your wires. Hmmm, let me think. You are a powerful woman on Femax, head of your own merchant guild in the capital city of Arcadia. So for anyone to control you, they'd have to be more powerful than you. And who could be more powerful than Lady Tannen of Arcadia's Merchant Guild? Someone from the Court of the First?"

"Now, you know I couldn't share that information, that is, if you theory is true." She sipped more wine; bring her other hand up to brush her hair over her shoulder. "Though, I am amused that you would think that someone of that power as the only one who would want me to use my connection to you to make such a strange sale."

Was she toying with him, or was she subtly confirming his suspicion? Okay, so the Femaxian courted wanted a Femax courtesan sold to an Autobot. But not just any Autobot, an Elite Cybertronian who was a Prime who was in charge of border security. . . .

It slowly register in his processor and optical brows rose. Ah, he should have realized it. Spy or sabotage? Or maybe both? What was the Femaxians planning for Cybertron?

"Swindle, dear," Tannen murmured as she glanced into her now empty glass. "I want to give you some advice. A little bird sang to me this morning and it told me that it might be a good idea for my important friend not to go to his native planet for a while."

"Ah, the wise birds of Femax. I think I'll take this bird's advice, and keep my distance, but I'll be watching."


	3. Foreboding

Arro opened her eyes, exactly one hour after Ion Prime left to send off his reports to Iacon's capital. She rolled onto her back to stare up at the blue ceiling. It was painted blue, likely Ion thought it would make her comfortable for the ceiling to look like the blue sky of her planet. It was a thoughtful gesture which she appreciated, but it made her feel . . . like a pet. Even the round bed was something he brought for her comfort. She rolled off the bed and padded on bare feet to the large floor to ceiling window. She didn't fear being see wearing only her lingerie because the windows were tinted to hide Ion Prime's dirty little secret.

She stared down at the city of Iacon. It was similar to Arcadia in the vibrant light and movement. Watching the swirling lights made her dizzy and she wanted a stim-stick badly. Arro turned away from the window and moved to the small closet where an assortment of robes and clothing hung. She knelt at the open door and reached far into the back, grasping a short trunk and tugged it toward her. She pressed the seals on the sides and lifted the lid. Inside were more clothes, toiletries, a case containing hair ornaments, and box of makeup. She took each of these articles out of the trunk and set them aside until it was empty. In the corner was a small catch, which no one would notice unless one knew where to look. Arro lifted up the false bottom to show a hidden compartment inside. Setting that aside she reached further inside and picked up a dark gray cylinder which was thicker than her upper arm.

She cradled it under her arm as she left the bedroom. She crossed the den and entered Ion's office. His office contained shelves of data-books and mementos of his career such as holo-image of him receiving the rank of Prime and a shot of him and his military friends from the Great War. Ion had spoken of them in great detail whenever she asked him about the Great War. She set the cylinder on the table beside the computer on the desk and hefted herself onto the chair and let her legs dangle above the floor. The chair was built to suit Ion's great height as the keys on the keyboard were large for his bulky digits.

She glanced at the keys, each labeled with a Cybertronian character. She closed her eyes for a moment, activating the translating implant where her optic nerves connected with her brain. When she opened them, she was able to understand then characters, a trait that Ion knew nothing of.

She switched on the machine and as it whirred to life, she tugged a long cord from the side of the cylinder and connected it to the side of console. She lifted a pad from the drawer and connected it to the cylinder via a second cord. She placed her foot on the edge of chair and balanced the data-pad on her need. She opened a word template and typed a message.

_How are you?_

A moment passed before more text responded to her inquiry.

_Thin. But better now. Another download?_

Arro was quick to respond to her friend.

_Yes. Left hour ago. Will be gone all day. Take your time._

A data transfer bar appeared on Ion's computer and Arro glanced as her friend, Ghost, downloaded all of Ion's files. Ghost breezed through firewalls, broke passwords, and deciphers encryptions within seconds as Arro watched. The technology was amazing; Ghost was able to do in seconds what would take a team of hackers to do in weeks. But the cost of such technology was heavy.

She resumed her chat with Ghost.

_A- Three days. Next phase of mission._

G- _Ready?_

_A- I will be._

G- _How is it? With him?_

_A- Different. Keep afraid will pinch my fingers._

G- _Kiss?_

Arro felt pity spread like a web in her doubted that Ghost had ever been kissed before. It wasn't uncommon for her friend to drill her about. . . life.

_A- Taste like I put battery in mouth. Shocks a little. Don't hurt._

G- _Personality?_

_A- Too doting. Might be love. Or thinks he is in love._

G- _Kill him?_

_A- Only if needed. Not bad person. _

G- _Could "ghost" him._

_A- Too risky. Too known and Elite. Might have barriers._

G_- True. "Ghosting" more difficult than hacking. Done. Now have security keys for facilities._

_A- Good. Good night._

Arro powered down the computer and checked the time. Still hours before Ion returned. She could shower and have a meal before he returns. Arro unplugged the cords and tucked the cylinder under her arms carefully as she returned it to its hidey hole at the bottom of the trunk.

* * *

><p>Optimus had no time for reflection when he returned to Cybertron. There was the hero's welcome, the constant interrogation and interviews, Megatron's trial, and Prowl's funeral. He had been awarded medals, honors, and not to mention that there was a rumor of a more prestigious position available for him.<p>

There was nothing to keep him from accepting a new position. The team had split up. Bumblebee had been invited back to Autoboot camp to earn his rank of Elite Guard, likely he'll have a better time of it this time around since he was one of the heroes that returned the Allspark. Bulkhead had been given the same invitation, but declined to return to his family's energon farm. He said that he had been away far too long. Ratchet was finally enjoying his retirement as Omega Supreme's overseer on a lone colony. Sari Sumdac had returned to Earth to work with her father to form a liaison between Cybertron and Earth's governments. And Prowl. . . was resting in the Tomb of Cyberninjas, a place that all cyberninjas are entomb upon going offline in the line of duty.

Optimus took a moment to silently mourn a lost comrade. He hadn't been easy to deal with in the beginning, not willing to take orders or work with others, but he had become an irreplaceable member of the team. It had been a sad day, the day of his memorial service.

Optimus gazed at the wall that held his medals of honors and holo-image of him and his team with the captured Decepticons leaving Omega Supreme ship mode. It had been a proud moment for him, a glowing diamond that will reflect well for the duration of his career. But now, he felt empty, purposeless. There was no team to maintain, no threat that needed answering, and no need for any action on his part at all. He understood the feeling that was weighing so heavily on his spark. It was boredom.

He could take up the offer to oversee training at the Autoboot camp or he could aid Sari form a liason between Earth and Cybertron, even act as Earth's advocate for the intergalactic community. Earth was in a way his domain as seen in the eyes of Cybertronians having hibernated and defeating the Decepticons there. The more he thought about it, the better it sounded. It would allow him to being around an old friend and get Sentinel off his back. His former friend didn't take Optimus's success very well and tried to find ways to discredit him in the public eye, whether it was attempts to cast doubt on Megatron's defeat was only by Optimus or funding performances that made him look like a fool.

Optimus never wanted to be in the spotlight. He just wanted to better serve people.

* * *

><p>Three days later, a package came for Ion, but the contents were not for him. It held a Femaxian brand name on the corner and held Femaxian clothing and various items. Ion set the chest on the table in his study and questioned his lover about them, "I thought you had everything you owned with you when I bo. . . when we met."<p>

Arro's silks rustled as she approached the table, her eyes flitting from her lover to the displayed items. "They are items from my girlhood. I am surprised that Swindle had contacted by family to let them know I was here. However, it is good to have these things." She reached forward and drew a holo screen from the chest. It was an image of two Femaxians, an adult and a child. "This is an image of my mother and me when I was a child."

Ion barely gave the image a glance and touched the small of her back, guiding her to face him, "I don't like surprises like this, Arro. The courier gave me a strange look when he brought this to my suite."

"My apologies. I had no idea that they would know nor wish to send my things. Please, don't be angry. I wouldn't do anything to cause you harm to you or your reputation." Arro intentional inserted a small lilt as if attempted to be hidden, but loud enough for him to notice.

"I'm not angry." Ion was quick to assert. His hands touching her shoulders, careful not to put too much weight on her. "I was just surprised. And I'm not blaming you. I'm sorry if it sounded like that."

Arro's eyes glanced at the box while he brushed her hair from her brow and pressed his mouth against the skin there. There was a light tingle that crawled along her scalp, which she assumed came from the discharge from his mouth. She bit the inside of her cheek to keep from wincing as he drew back, and kept the demure look on her face. "I'll put these away while you work. I plan on taking a shower, then retire to bed."

"I'll be there to join you in a few hours." Ion squeezed her shoulder, his optics flitting down her form fitting robe, tracing the line of flesh in the slit at the front.

Arro watched him relunctantly leave and repacked all the items Ion had removed and carried the box with her to their bedroom. She shut the door, commanding it locked as she carried the box to the bed and dumped its contents out. Dark clothes fell in a heap and items spilled out. Setting the box right, she looked inside to find the catch in the corner and lifted it up. Inside was what she needed for tonight's endeaver. But first, a shower. She grabbed a knife from the hidden cache and headed to the attached bathroom.

The robe fell from her body in a soft hiss before she switched on the warm water. As the water rained onto the tile, she unfolded the blade from its ivory handle and held it against her wrist, just applying enough pressure, the blade cut cleanly throught he synthetic skin. The pale "skin" peel away to expose the dark metallic armor beneath. Whorls at the joints folded and unfolded at her movements. The hand came off easily as a glove and she dropped the synthetic skin in the waste disposal, then she started on the other arm. When she finished turned to the mirror, her eyes wide. Carefully, with a thumb and forefinger, she gently removed the blue lenses from each eye. She dropped them into the waste disposal too and blinked at herself in the mirror. They thought it wise to make her eyes appear blue like an Autobot's instead of red like their enemies.

She showered then. She slaked the suds through her dark tresses, her metal fingers functioning just like normal digits. Arro carefully rinsed her hair and towled it dry before letting the cloth hang over her shoulders as she stepped into the bedroom to dress. It took her ten minutes to dress and when she was finished she studied herself in the bathroom mirror. The armored vest held in place by hard clips about her shoulders and at her back. These were covered with a long dark jacket with deep pockets. The pants fit snugly, but comfortably as did the leather gloves that she tugged onto her hands. She finished up with tugging tall boots onto her feet and snapped them in place by buckles along the calf. She tested it, fleshing her arms and kneeling onto each knee. The garmets didn't inhibit her movement at all and moved silently without a whine or whisper. Then she looped her utility belt around her hips. She reached behind her to make sure that the pistol at the small of her back was easily drawn and then slipped it back into the holster.

Arro retrieved the cylinder and fitted in into open clip at her hip. "Alright, Ghost, let's go."


End file.
